"Took you long enough," Alya says with a smirk as Carmela climbs into the passenger seat. "Nearly ten minutes just to get a coffee."
"Coffee is dreadful," Carmela says. "I got a chocolate smoothie."
"Ah," Alya says, refusing to let a smile slip onto her lips. "A milkshake."
Carmela scowls and swirls her straw around in the thick liquid. "I prefer to use the more descriptive term, thank you very much."
This time, Alya really smiles. She's never met someone so similar to her.
A friend.
She's never really had a friend. Sure she has Mariel and Edward, but they're more of acquaintances than friends if she really thinks about it. Tom had pretty much cut her off from her old friends once they got married, saying that he didn't like having them around. There was something he just didn't like about them.
Alya snorts. Not like that was really grounds for an argument, but she wasn't one to argue. The more she thinks about it, the more unfair it seems. He hadn't even known her friends.
Had he?
Carmela gasps suddenly.
"What?" Alya says, refocusing her attention on the road.
Carmela points ahead. "Car crash right up there to the left."
Alya drives slowly past the crash. Police officers and ambulances crowd the scene. Mangled metal, burnt rubber... Alya's stomach turns, but she can't look away.
"It's so awful," Carmela whispers, covering her face with her hands. "I hate car accidents."
"Me too," Alya says softly. She continues to drive past the wreckage. Still, Carmela's words stay with her. I hate car accidents...
But who said it was an accident?
Images form in her mind, the murderer speeding down the road at ninety miles an hour and smashing into some poor, unsuspecting person. Maybe it will be Raymundo, or even Edward. She still isn't ruling him out yet.
The victim would probably be a woman; there seems be a pattern in the murderer's victims that is too obvious to ignore. Long auburn hair and brown eyes, or maybe short hair and green eyes. A complete stranger to Alya, but one she's willing to avenge all the same.
Mangled metal, burnt rubber... She can already picture it.
And suddenly, she's swerving off into the opposite lane, into the oncoming traffic with eyes fixed on the crash in front of her.
"Alya!" Carmela says, grabbing onto the door handle. "What are you doing? This is a two way lane!"
Alya ignores her. The serial killer is nearby; she just knows it. She's going to be the one to find him and bring him to justice. Tom will apologize, Mariel will come back, and James... She doesn't know about James yet.
Alya squints closer at the two cars in the crash. Her breath hitches in her throat. Is that-
"Alya!" Carmela screams. "Alya, stop!"
A blur of headlights, then the sickening crunch of steel and the rancid smell of melted plastic.
Mangled metal, burning rubber...
Alya's life flashes before her eyes. Splatters of blood speckle her vision. A gunshot rings out in the air. Rain pounds on concrete. A lone umbrella drowns in puddles that are slowly turning red...
Alya's eyes follow the trail of blood. Pale arms. Dark hair.
Alya squints. Wait, that's-
Lizzie.
YOU ARE READING
Psycho #OpenNovellaContest
General Fiction"I want to help you," the man next to her says. She shivers as the hand rests on her thigh again. But this time, she doesn't push him away. He lowers his voice to a whisper, so quiet that not even the microphones can pick it up. "People do strange t...
